


Helpless

by HappilyHaunted



Category: Original Work
Genre: Choking, Creampie, F/M, Interspecies Sex, Language Barrier, Painful Sex, Penis Size, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex, Roughness, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Small Breasts, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, breast appreciation, but also gentleness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyHaunted/pseuds/HappilyHaunted
Summary: He was terrifyingly intimidating. At this close range his extreme height became ever more apparent, and I felt like I was shrinking in on myself. I came up only to his bellybutton.I saw myself for a moment through his eyes.I was adorable. I was a little child who didn’t want to leave the playground, a dog that didn’t want a bath. I was very mad, but I was also very small, and very silly, and he would be the adult and make the choice, and I would be alright with it once I’d finished with my fit.





	Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> I did it. I finally wrote some porn. Some freaky, rapey porn. It's super out of context and also unedited because apparently I can't be bothered with such things. XD 
> 
> This might stay a one shot, but I'm considering adding more. Let me know if you'd be interested in more chapters. I do have a vague storyline planned out in my head, so if this goes further you can look forward to a bit more context maybe.

 

The strange man was obviously not sure what to make of me. He regarded me curiously though not warily. I suppose I must seem a slight elf of a person to him; interesting but hardly frightening by any stretch.

I had more reason to be wary. The stranger was roughly twice my height, and powerfully built. His face and body looked somewhat off, somehow different than I was used to human faces and bodies looking. I was faced with the realization that this person might not be what is considered human.

He had small eyes, a prominent but regal nose, firm jaw and brow, and curly brown hair. His face, though wide, had a gaunt look to it, and there was no softness or roundness anywhere in his features.

While taking in the stranger’s features I met his eyes by accident, and we stared at each other a while before looking away. I realized that I was quite afraid. I had found nothing in his face, manner, or posture to put me at ease. He was all power and strength and mastery without a hint of gentleness or at least something like shyness.

He spoke to me, and I started. I couldn’t understand a word of what he said, it was all in a foreign language, but it was spoken gently enough. Tone of voice did little to soften his threatening impression, and I still could not see him as gentle on the whole, but he was at least trying not to frighten me.

"I can’t understand you," I said, more for the sake of saying something in response than actually communicating. I was sure he couldn’t understand me either.

He spoke again, but I could see that his specific words didn’t matter. He was talking just to soothe, speaking in the gentle coaxing tones used to calm a frightened animal or small child. And he was moving towards me.

I thought of running, and looked around to get an idea of where I might get away to. There was nowhere really, and I hesitated too long in deciding to actually be able to do anything.

The man was close enough now to touch me, and he did, stroking my arm softly. I was afraid to move, now that he was so close. He was terrifyingly intimidating. At this close range his extreme height became ever more apparent, and I felt like I was shrinking in on myself. I came up only to his bellybutton.

He cooed to me and moved his arm to pet my shoulder. His hand being so close to my neck scared me in a way that was instinctive and difficult to describe. I was powerless to move, but I heard myself whimper.

He paused and said something that was obviously "there, there," in any language, then dropped down to croutch closer to my level.

This was slightly better, as I no longer felt like a child cowering below a great bear, but it quickly got worse as he pulled me to him and nestled me against his chest. He sat me on his legs and petted my back and hair. He kept up a steady stream of soothing sounds, but they had no effect. I stayed still only because I was too afraid to move.

The embrace was not really meant to soothe me. It was for him to get closer to me and inspect the object of his curiosity more thoroughly. He sniffed my hair delicately, traced the curve of my stomach with one giant hand, and took hold of one of my much smaller hands with the other. He rubbed my fingers gently, and I could tell that he was hoping I would respond with some hand movement of my own, make at least some small motion to break my stillness.

He grabbed my chin and tilted my head towards his to examine my face. His expression scared me. Despite all his soothing speech his face was still hard, unsmiling, searching. There was an intensity in his gaze that made me quiver inwardly. His brown eyes were fixed on my own, pupils dialated, gaze unwavering.

His ease in examining me was part of what unnerved me. He was not embarrassed to stare. He had no shyness, no reservedness. It had the effect of making me feel he considered me something inferior, not something worthy of the usual etiquette that warned against long periods of staring. One isn’t worried what a dog might think of them if they look at it for too long.

He ran his thumb over my bottom lip and I opened my mouth slightly without thinking. This seemed to please him, and he actually smiled slightly. I found myself blushing with some slight embarrassment I couldn’t place. However, he simply moved his hand from my face and back to my body.

He had wanted to break my stillness, and now he finally did. He placed his hand directly on my left breast, and I started. I tried to push away, but his other arm had tightened around my waist. Without words to communicate with I merely whimpered my protest.

He ignored me, squeezing my breast lightly, testingly. It was less than a handful in his giant palm, and he seemed worried to hurt it. He pressed a little harder, kneading, feeling the breast tissue below the cushiony surface. My nipple was up at this point, obvious through my thin shirt and bra, and he felt that too, rolling it in slow circles, then catching it between two fingers and pinching slightly.

I had the odd sense that he was trying to determine whether my breasts were real, though that made little sense at the time. My chest was small, not the sort to be suspected of implants or modification.

He reached under my shirt and I practically screamed. He hushed me but didn’t so much as hesitate. He slipped under my bra and took the bare flesh of my chest into his hand. I thrashed desperately, pleaded with him in words he didn’t understand.

"Stop, please stop. I don’t want you to do that. Please!" I whimpered.

My body language was clear enough even if my words were not, but he didn’t care. He was speaking to me again, lowering his head to my ear, and I could hear happiness in his voice. I might be distressed, but he had a girl in his lap and a breast in his hand, and it pleased him.

He began to take my shirt off. I fought him, I told him to stop, I actually hissed at him to try to convey my feelings, but when I turned my face to his he only looked amused. I saw myself for a moment through his eyes.

I was adorable. I was a little child who didn’t want to leave the playground, a dog that didn’t want a bath. I was very mad, but I was also very small, and very silly, and he would be the adult and make the choice, and I would be alright with it once I’d finished with my fit.

I was not finished with my fit. I pushed his hands away, tried to roll off his lap, hugged my arms to myself so that he couldn’t get the sleeves off. I did everything but try to hurt him, which instinct told me was dangerous and off limits. By restraining myself to these rules I resigned myself to loosing the battle. He was enormously powerful, and I was barely more than a doll in his arms. He pulled my arms away from my body and held them together in front of me with one hand, then pulled my shirt over my head and down my arms with the other. My bra had a clasp and could have been unlatched, but he simply pulled it off with my shirt.

He tossed the clothes aside and laid me down on the floor. I was back to whimpering, apparently having lost all my fierceness when I lost the fight. He loomed over me and I tried to cover my chest. He growled and pulled my arms away again, and I dared not bring them back.

With my compliance his features softened. He gazed at my uncovered chest and smiled. It was beautiful to him.

He kneeled above me and straddled me, hands on either side of my shoulders, face level with my chest. I felt completely caged, prey below a lion, helpless and in danger. He lowered his head to my chest, greeting my breast with a kiss. He sensed my hands twitching to betray their orders, and he pinned them down with his before I could raise them to push him away.

His mouth was hot and wet on my nipple. He suckled it vigorously, nipping it with his teeth, rolling it with his tongue. After teasing it sufficiently he expanded his attention to the rest of my breast. He drew it into his mouth and sucked it leisurely, pulling away until he kept only the nipple, before reopening his mouth and taking the whole thing in again. He could take almost the entirety of my breast in his mouth. The whole time his tongue laved at my nipple inside his mouth.

I was terribly afraid, but his mouth turned my blood to liquid sunshine in my veins. My skin tingled. A desperate warmth was accumulating in my belly. I was very aroused. I had been even before he had considered my breasts, in that strange way that fear can bring on, but now the feeling was unstoppable. I basked in the warm bliss of sensation, letting myself ignore momentarily my situation, my great fear, how frightfully this man loomed above me, how terribly large, how awfully forceful. I was almost glad he held me pinned down so that I couldn’t and didn’t have to think about resisting.

But now he let go of one of my wrists to knead the breast that was not in his mouth. I cried out softly. I actually felt like I could break down in tears. I was scared beyond myself, not knowing what was happening, what to expect to happen, but I was also suffering in my arousal now, a pathetic mess of desperate need. I could feel my pulse in my vagina, and it actually hurt with every heartbeat. The worst part was that I could find no remedy. I had no control over my situation. I could neither satisfy myself nor even separate myself from him to give me time to wind down without release.

What was I to do? Would I have him touch me where I ached, if wishing could change anything? Would I have a strange monster set me free from the torture he himself inflicted through a violation of myself?

The strange monster pulled himself away from my breast at last and gazed at my flushed face lovingly. He was immensely happy, immensely pleased, even more so to see how entirely beside myself I was. It was as it should be.

He nuzzled my neck and crooned happy words in my ear. I could tell that he was praising me, telling me I looked beautiful, or was doing a good job, or something else I couldn’t imagine.

And then all my fears and desperate hopes crashed together into reality. Without warning he slipped his hand under my waistband and between the folds of my labia. It sent a shock through my core and turned my puddle of sunshine into a lake of fire. And now I did begin to cry. I sniffled with quiet, whimpering sobs as hot tears ran down my cheeks.

But then he took his hand away. He looked honestly concerned, stopped what he was doing, and pulled me to his chest to comfort me. He petted my hair and tried to soothe me. He looked into my crying face and wiped at my tears with his thumbs. My heart illuminated with the hope that he might stop, that he understood that I was afraid and didn’t want him to touch me, and that he cared that I was distressed.

He did care, but he saw in my tears the other side of my suffering. I was hot and needy and itching for touch, and the intensity of feeling, the desperation of need was too much for me. He was not wrong.

And so he was going to help me. He murmured encouragements that it would be better soon, apologies that he had left me so long in pain. Or so I imagined them from his unknown words. And in a single movement, before I could anticipate or resist, he pulled my shorts and panties off and cast them aside.

I cried still harder and he laid me back down on the floor below him. He kneaded a breast with one hand and parted my folds with the other. Every touch was a drip of hot wax on my oversensitive skin. He rubbed slow circles on my clit and ripples of pleasure shook me. He traced his fingers down to my sloppy lake of a vagina. Even the tap of his fingers on the entrance felt like heaven.

He slid a finger in easily. I gasped and clenched around him a little. His finger was thick and long, and he flexed it against my pleasure point briefly before pulling back. He inserted a second finger and I felt the stretch. I was slick but still tight, and two of his fingers were like three of a normal person‘s. He pumped his fingers in and out but avoided my g spot until I was used to them.

I was climbing, close to peak when he pulled out. He admired the copious slick on his fingers, then brought them to my mouth. He spread my slime on my lips until I opened them. He slipped both fingers in, almost to my throat, and waited for me to suck them clean. I was beyond dignity, and did as he wished. I tasted smooth and slightly salty on him.

When I was done he wiped his wet fingers on my stomach, and brought his mouth to mine to taste my fluid on my lips.

I was still painfully hot, more so now that I had come so close to relief and been denied. I no longer cried, too tired and too dull in the head to manage it. He was cruel, I was sure, to promise release and delay it still.

He pulled away from the kiss and moved away from me momentarily. I was too much in a daze to wonder what he was doing, or do anything other than look at the ceiling, and flex my hips involuntarily.

I was drawn out of my trance by the feel of something hot and wet on my leg. My stranger was beside me again, and I looked down to see what was touching my leg. It took my eyes a moment to focus. When I succeeded I received a shock so strong it cleared my stupor and made me forget my arousal for sheer panic.

He was naked, and the hot wetness on my leg was his penis dripping pre-cum. It was enormous. It was probably a foot long, thicker than my fist, fully erect, veiny and hard and throbbing.

He moved to position himself above me, straddling me. I was reminded again of how imposing his presence was, how threatening his motions. He looked into my eyes and I gazed back, silently asking him what on earth he thought he was doing.

His eyes were glassy, pupils blown out to the size of his irises. His mouth was open slightly in a pant. His gaunt cheeks were flushed and he looked hot.

He stroked my cheek and lowered his hips to grind himself against my inner thigh, leaving rivers of watery pre-cum on my skin. The realization struck me in full force. He intended to put that inside of me. He intended to fuck me with that.

My fear and my fight were back and I scrambled out from under him before he could stop me. I tried to stand up but was dizzy and stumbled. He caught me by the arm then and pushed me back to the ground. He was aggressive now, rough, and I saw that he wasn’t going to hesitate any longer. As soon as he had me positioned he would be inside of me.

So I struggled and squirmed and tried to roll away and pushed at him and even kicked at him and clawed at his arms and chest. I did succeed in rolling over, but that suited him just as well. He pinned my arms above my head, flattened his chest against my back to hold me to the ground, kicked my legs apart, and thrust into my core.

The pain was sharp and immediate. Despite my abundant slickness, the contstriction of my vagina had only allowed the monstrosity in halfway, and he had to thrust again to fully sheath it. Another wave of pain shook me as my innermost places were stretched beyond their limits, and my cervix was bruised by the cockhead.

He didn’t waste a moment. He thrust into me repeatedly, brutally, smashing my cervix with every stroke, giving my sentive walls no time to rest between attacks. His head rubbed against my g spot with every thrust, causing my walls to clench painfully around the intruder.

My attacker was breathing roughly, moaning his bliss. He reached between us to feel our coupling point and his hand came back dripping red. He had me suck my blood off his fingers as he fucked my wounds wider.

My walls were rubbed raw, damaged and bleeding in several places from the unnatural stretch. The pain was inescapable, but still the pleasure built.

He changed his angle to batter his head directly against my g spot with every thrust. I cried out, overwhelmed. I had no control over pace, over anything, and he assaulted my senses with pain and pleasure so strong it scared me.

If I could I would have him stop. I was overstimulated, even the good feelings hurt, even as I drew closer to orgasm I feared the uncontrollable intensity of sensation he forced on me. Ripples of fever tingled my every muscle.

My attacker was unfazed in his bliss. He delighted in my moans and whimpers, delirious in the pleasure brought on by a tighter milking of his cock than he had ever felt before. I was tiny and helpless and writhing below him, speared on him, clenching him, crying and dripping and bleeding for him. And still he chased the pleasure found for him in my battered core.

His thrusts grew erratic, his breath nearly a growl. Without warning he placed an enormous hand on the back of my neck and tightened his fingers around it, blocking the arteries to my brain and cutting off my oxygen.

In a shock I came, clenching around him as he shot rope after rope of cum into my core. My world was sparkles and static, my blood lava, my cunt aflame with terrible bliss as it clenched vicelike at the monstrous intrusion it sheathed.

The waves crashed over me. I gasped as my neck was released and blowflow resumed. I was exhausted, my pain forgotten in a glow of chemical bliss. I was heavy and sleepy and releaved to be done, releaved to be free and be satisfied.

He had spilled the last of his gift inside me, and he pulled out with a rude sounding but satisfying squelch. He rolled off of me and pulled me to him, chest to chest on the cold floor. He pet my hair leasurely, inadvertently streaking it with blood and fluid from his hands as he did so. My vagina was leaking semen and more blood, dripping to the floor and making a further mess of both of us.

As I came down from my high reality bore down on me uncomfortably. I had had sex with—I had been raped by—a giant stranger who might not be human. He was trying to cuddle me now. We were naked and filthy on the floor. I had serious vaginal tearing, bruises on my hips and face from being fucked against the floor, and I wasn’t sure I could walk.

And so when he stood up and picked me up and carried me down the hall still naked and bloody, I didn’t protest. I had no better plans.


End file.
